


Redemption

by Cyberfairie



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Not Happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 15:25:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5132591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyberfairie/pseuds/Cyberfairie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So apparently any prompt I get from TheLadyLily is guaranteed to be the length of a standard one shot fic.<br/>The prompt this time was:   Adoribull Sunday Prompt – Sad Adoribull – Bad End – DickQuisitor/Evil Inquisitor – Even after the re-education the part of Bull that loves Dorian remains, but he was still of the Quns and when the time came he will fight but not to win, or so he hoped. He doesn’t die, but he is unable to move from exhaustion and his wounds. The Inquisitor immediately turns at Dorian and accuses him of betrayal/conspiring with the bull. The mage was kneeling by the ‘fallen’ qunari and was about to respond to the Inquistor, but it got cut short as he got stabbed by the other. The other two companions can’t do nothing but leave and follow the Inquisitor after the next task, but The Iron Bull saw his lover die and he survived it all to head back to Par Vollen, and works loaly for the qun just for the chance to get back at the Inquisitor one day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Redemption

**Author's Note:**

> Although the prompt should say it all I will also add this caveat: This is a story of redemption but there is NO happy ending. And since I'm known for always providing them let me apologize now and hand out the tissues. 
> 
> Apparently TheLadyLily brings out the best (and most evil) parts of my muse.

“Shok ebasit hissra.  Meraaad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun.  Marass Shokra.  Anaan esaam Qun.”

“Ebadim astaar, Qunari itwa-toh.  Asit tal-eb.”

“And do you believe that?”

“I believe what you tell me to believe.  My purpose is what you determine it to be.”

“And if it is determined that you become a baker?”

“Then I shall feed the people and they will know no hunger.”

“And if it is determined that you are Athlok?”

“Then the ground shall be turned and planted in its season.”

“What of The Iron Bull?”

“Bas maraas.  A mask wore too frequently and shattered upon the ground.”

“Very well Besrathari.  We shall see if you can train the next generation to protect their masks better.”

“Nehraa Qun, Viddasala.”

 

The man who had been Hissrad, then The Iron Bull, and now Besrathari walked from the reeducation center as though he had nowhere to be.  Which was, he supposed, almost accurate.  Tomorrow he would report to the training center and begin to look through the potential recruits to see who among them might have the internal strength and outer calm to begin training as Hissrad but for today, today he need only find his quarters and a meal.

His face was set as hard as stone he followed the line of priests that walked in quiet double lines from the temple to the rows of two story barracks, presenting himself to a Taarabas and quickly receiving a room assignment as well as directions to the mess hall.

The slight rumble to his stomach told him food was the greater need at the moment and so he headed toward the large room, waited his time in line and received his bowl of spicy stew along with a chunk of day old bread and a flagon of water before selecting a quiet corner to sit and eat.  Eye perusing those assembled for a meal he quickly saw the typical groupings of people.  Tallis sat with Tallis, Salit with Salit, not only because of familiarity but also because the sharing of job functions was not done and if you could not discuss work with someone there was little else to say in this place.

It had been different in Seheron, where battle and experience in one’s position made things more lax, but here in the center of Par Vollen no one wanted to be called out as a traitor and it was easier to stay silent than to chance having your words misunderstood.  Which is why, though several sets of eyes glanced his way from time to time, no one joined him at the table which could easily sit ten times his number, and so, he was left in peace to finish the first meal he’d had since his return that was not spiked with qamek.  He wondered what it said about him that he missed the taste.

It was only when he went to find his room that he discovered that rather than being assigned to a roommate he had garnered one of the private corner rooms.  For a Bas it might have seemed an honor, but Besrathari took it in the nature in which it had been given and wondered briefly which piece of furniture in the room held the enchantment that would carry any of his words back to the Viddasala.

Settling himself on the bed, he closed his eye as he absently rubbed at the raised brand that covered the meat of his palm.   _One step closer Kadan.  They released me from the reeducation center today, certain that The Iron Bull was as dead as you are.  It is a good thing they didn’t know the right questions to ask.  Because while The Iron Bull might be dead, your Amatus is not.  How could I be when I still have your life to avenge…_

 

 

_Bull had cursed Koslun and the Maker equally when he found the orders sealed in his room in the Winter Palace.  Because even knowing what the Qun would one day expect of him, Bull had never quite been convinced that when the time came he’d actually be able to do it.  Oh, killing the Inquisitor would have been easy, some of their companions less so, but Dorian…fucking Dorian with all of his prickly, superior ways that hid a badly battered heart of pure gold...Dorian had somehow managed to wind himself so tightly around Bull’s heart that he doubted his ability to watch the life fade from those tempestuous silver eyes._

_He had doubted himself so thoroughly that he had actually suggested the Boss leave Dorian behind that day, had reasoned that Vivienne was a stronger healer and as they were uncertain the number of troops they’d be encountering perhaps a healer would be wise.  But the Boss had declined, Vivienne had been rather outspoken in her disapproval of the Inquisition’s continued existence and the Boss felt Dorian’s necromancy would even the deck in any battle._

_And so that morning he’d risen before his lover, applied his vitaar as he would before any battle and told himself that it was far kinder for Dorian to fall in battle than to be captured.  To picture those kiss swollen lips sewn shut with coarse black thread, that copper skin marred by scars from a collar which would sit far too heavy on slim shoulders, those inquisitive eyes the color of water polished stone turned dull from the qamek...   No, it would be kinder for him to slip a dagger through his lover’s ribs into his heart and end it quickly._

_“Why so serious, Amatus?” Dorian had whispered just as Bull had made his decision, his arms wrapping around the warrior from behind while careful to avoid the still wet vitaar._

_“I’m always serious before a battle, Kadan,” Bull had growled, putting down his brush and turning to face his lover._

_Dorian’s face pulled up in a scowl.  “It is unfair of Ellana to expect you to fight your own people.  I tried to convince her...”_

_“Kadan,_ **you’re** _my people,” Bull had interrupted.  What was one more lie among dozens if it worked to still Dorian’s words before they could weaken his resolve?_

_Leaning forward to rest his forehead against Bull’s Dorian had grinned then, the smile sending a sinking feeling right to the pit of Bull’s stomach.  “Yes, well if I’m yours perhaps you should remind me one more time,” he had taunted, his fingers tracing just the safe side of Bull’s vitaar.  “Perhaps I require some marks of my own to carry into battle.”_

_It was weak and he should have said no.  Should have insisted they had no time for such base desires but instead he had smiled and allowed Dorian to tug him back to bed where they had worshipped each other as though both knew it would be the last time._

_And so, by the time the Viddasala had commanded him to attack and he’d growled, “Understood ma’am” Bull had known how it would go.  Had known the look of betrayal that would be on the Boss’s face when he shrugged and muttered, “Change of plans.  Nothing personal…bas.”_

_He had known how Dorian would hesitate, disbelieve pausing his hand, and Sera’s too, just long enough for the Boss to get her sword out.  Because that one, she had been betrayed enough times in her life to know better than to hesitate and by the time their blades met Dorian had gotten into the game, a familiar green barrier snapping into effect over the Boss._

_Sera’s arrow lodged in his ribs, not deep enough to kill him but bad enough to make him wince, his lover casting a fireball that hit his brace and for a moment Bull thought he’d missed on purpose and then he tried to bend his knee and found the brace had been melted into place.  Sneaky, sneaky Kadan, fuck but he’d chosen his lover well._

_Another arrow, this time to his shoulder and then the Boss’s sword slipped past him and his chest exploded in pain, the blade carving a path from his collarbone to his hip and spraying her leathers with his blood.  He’d hit the ground on his hip, axe clattering from his hands as he’d reached to keep his guts in his belly and then he wondered how any blood could still be pumping through a heart that broke as he heard Dorian growl, “The Iron Bull must have been so proud of himself.  “Kadan…”_

_He eye slid shut without his permission and he forced it back open a slit to see Sera pacing tight frustrated circles.  “This whole time?  Just…frig, frigging, lop-horned son of a pissing shit!  Rrrgh!”_

_And then Dorian was there, kneeling next to him, those silver eyes of his so full of betrayal it felt like Bull was taking dagger to his heart…and yet, beneath the betrayal was love, so much love that Bull could hardly regret letting himself die on this floor.  Love enough to make betraying his country worth it.  Love enough to save a nation._

_“Exactly, this whole time…and I’m supposed to believe you didn’t know, Dorian?”  The Boss growled._

_Dorian turned to look over his shoulder at her, “What exactly are you suggesting, Ellana?”_

_There was something in her expression, some slight hint of what was to come that turned what was left of Bull to ice.  Dorian turned back to him and Bull’s mouth opened in warning just as the Inquisitor growled, “Viddathari traitor.”_

_Bull registered surprise in Dorian’s eyes, surprise that turned to shock even as the blood sprayed Bull in the face, his foggy mind refusing to accept that he was actually seeing the Boss’s dagger dripping with Dorian’s blood.  “Amat...” Dorian mouthed, no sound coming from his torn throat, a frown freezing on his face as the life fled from his eyes._

_Sera froze in the background as the Boss put her foot to Dorian’s back toppled him over, his body crumpling like a puppet whose strings had been cut.  The archer pulled hard at her short blond locks, her eyes darting from Inquisitor to Dorian and back again.  “Argh, what?  But…I…what the fucked you do that for?”_

_“Fucking traitors, the both of them,” the Boss growled.  “We’ll discuss this later…let’s move.”_

_He’d seen the shock and disbelief in the archer’s eyes as she shuffled forward, watched as she reached a hand out to Dorian’s neck as though her own will could thwart death.  “Bloody fucking shit, Fancy Britches…” Sera had growled, running her hand tenderly through Dorian’s hair one time before striding quickly after the Inquisitor without even sparing Bull a glance._

_“Shit, Kadan,” Bull muttered as soon as he was certain he was alone, his words barely audible and accompanied by a cough of blood.  Fuck, that wasn’t a good sign._

**Damn it, it was supposed to be me, Kadan.** _Forcing his arm to move Bull sluggishly inched his hand closer to where Dorian lay crumpled at his knee, his own fingers trailing through his lover’s silky hair one more time, pushing it back from his forehead before letting his fingers trail lower, his thumb brushing over the bruise he’d left on Dorian’s collarbone just that morning.  The bruise that would never fade now, Bull thought bitterly, anger flaring.  He should have seen it.  Should have known that the Boss had suffered so many betrayals in her life that his would push her over the edge.  But she and Dorian had always seemed so close, close enough Dorian had proudly showed Bull the sending crystal he’d gotten for her so that they could always stay in touch…_

_Bull huffed out a bitter little laugh for his lover.  Fuck, but the ‘Vint really had made poor choices when it came to those he trusted.  Somehow that thought only made Bull angrier, angry that he was one of those people, angry that he wouldn’t live long enough to see his lover avenged._

_The struggle to push air through his lungs had Bull pulling his hand back, the tips of his fingers catching on one of the chains around Dorian’s neck._ **So that no matter how far apart we are we will always be together.**   _The words hit his mind the same time as the memory of Dorian’s shy smile, the way his lover had touched the tooth over and over as if the weight of it against his chest wasn’t enough proof that it existed._

_Before he had time to rethink his decision Bull tugged at the chain, breaking it and pulling it back to his chest only to find that rather than the dragon tooth he had expected, Dorian’s birthright shined bright in his palm.  “Forgive me Kadan,” Bull muttered, raising the amulet to his lips and kissing it softly before clenching it tightly in his fist.  His last thought as consciousness fled was that perhaps if the Maker was real they would find each other again._

 

 

 

**3 years later:**

 

“Ataas shokra, Besrathari.”

“Shanedan Rasaan.”

“Besrathari al Hissrad-iss ash Llomerryn.  Rethost, Hissrad-iss.  Ariqunkost ebra sala.”

“Meravas Rasaan.  Anaan esaam Qun!”  

“Panahedan, Hissrad-iss.”

“Panahedan.”

 

As Hissrad stood on the deck of the ship and watched Qunandar fade to nothing but a dot, a small smile formed on his lips for the first time in almost four years.  A feral, toothy thing that had nothing to do with happiness and everything to do with patience being rewarded.  For three years he’d played the perfect Besrathari.  Selected the best and brightest candidates and trained them to survive in Seheron.  Made nice with other trainers, but not too nice, visited the Tamassrans when his notes told him it would be normal to do so.  With the right combination of herbs it didn’t much matter if he felt actual desire or not, the important thing was that the box next to his name was ticked off and he could ignore that side of him for another month and focus on what was important.  Like earning enough trust that he might actually be reassigned somewhere off Par Vollen.

The hint of an honest smile graced Bull’s lips as he turned to head down to his matchbox sized room.  He still couldn’t believe he’d drawn Llomerryn.  He’d hoped for somewhere in Seheron, had told himself that he could endure that fucking cesspool if it meant avenging Dorian, but Llomerryn…it was as if they could read his mind.  Except if they really could he’d have been drugged with qamek and plowing a field instead of headed into one of the most lenient Qunari strongholds around.

Oh, not that the Rivaini would admit that even under duress.  Technically the only Qunari holding in Rivain was Kont-aar, leaving Llomerryn as a politically neutral port.  But it was Qunari that kept the pirates from killing the locals and kept any of one of the black marketers from gaining too strong a foothold in the corrupt city.  What difference did it make who wore the crown when you policed the field?

Closing the door to his room, he maneuvered carefully so he didn’t score the walls with his horns as he fell onto the hard mattress and closed his eyes.

“Finally, Kadan.”  Bull allowed the words to slip out on a whisper, fairly secure that as the highest ranking man on the ship other than the captain the room wouldn’t be bugged.  Even so, he resisted the urge to let the endearment fall from his lips a second time, his ring finger rubbing over the brand as he had grown accustomed to doing over the years.  Finally he could allow his mind to unlock a door long sealed so that he could be the man he needed to be.  The man his Kadan had deserved all those years ago…

 

_He had been so certain of death that waking to find that he was laying on a cot, wooden walls telling him that he was no longer in the fortress nor some temporary camp, had been an unpleasant surprise.  The worst of his wounds itched in the way that only healing magic caused and were covered with thick white bandages that bore just a faint trace of blood.  Reaching up to scratch them he realized two things simultaneously; first, his dragon tooth was gone, lost or taken he couldn’t be certain and second, that still clinched tightly in his fist was Dorian’s birthright and chain._

_He dropped back onto the cot with a heavy moan.  It was stupid to be upset about the tooth, he had always known he wouldn’t be able to keep it.  It was a symbol of The Iron Bull, one that he would have had to sacrifice the moment he returned to being Hissrad, but giving it up willingly and having it taken from him were two different things.  Taken just like Dorian’s birthright would be the moment they found it.  Unless they had already found it and were leaving it to him to surrender.  Testing him already to see if anything of The Iron Bull remained.  Fuck._

_He changed his mind.  Having it taken definitely hurt less than knowing that he would have to hand over the last thing that tied him to Dorian.  Would have to look at the Viddasala and sneer as he told her that he’d taken it from the mage in a last act of defiance.  That it could perhaps prove useful in aiding one of their agents in Tevinter._

_Flexing his hand left stiff from clinching his treasure for so long, he let the chain loop through his fingers as the oval pendant glittered in the light provided by the torch near his bed.  The part of him that had been Hissrad for so long told him it was a stroke of luck, a chance to prove his loyalty even as the remains of The Iron Bull mourned its loss though it still sat firmly in his palm, the imprint of intertwined ebony serpents evident in the meaty part of his hand below his thumb._

_Fingering at the spot with the index finger of his other hand an idea formed in his mind, one that would take careful planning to pull off, but if he did…_

_Pushing himself up on the cot with a little groan he looked down the rows of cots but saw no healer on duty, so no one to interrupt him should he try to return to his duty.  From there it would take but a little stumble, that is, if he could get his feet under him and fuck, he decided as he swung first one leg then another off the cot, that was a mighty big if._

_**For you, Kadan.**  Bull growled in his mind as he shoved himself to his feet, thankful for the coarse wooden walls that allowed him to brace a hand against them.  Had they been canvas he was certain he’d have ended up on his ass.  When he was fairly certain he could take a step without his knees failing him he stumbled towards the door, or more specifically, towards the pair of torches that lined the door._

_His hand knocking over a stack of bandages that sat on a table was calculated, his ankle catching on the end of a cot and drawing a low moan from its occupant was not, but both would only serve to enhance his cover as he reached the doorway and tumbled into it, the hand holding Dorian’s signet being the one that reached to save him from falling and ended up grasping the flaming end of the torch nearest him._

_There was no need to fake his cry of pain, only years of training forcing him to hold his hand where it was until he felt the metal attempting to fuse with his skin before sliding to the ground, the sound of feet rushing toward him the last thing he heard before passing out from the pain._

_He had still been wearing thick bandages when the Viddasala had swooped in to express her displeasure at the damage the birthright had received.  Only displeasure rather than full anger as the ebony serpents had survived intact and she already had a jeweler working to reform the melted edges of the piece.  “I regret the damage to your hand Hissrad, though perhaps it shall serve as a reminder of the insidiousness nature of magic for you in the future.”_

**It shall serve as a reminder that I am more than just Hissrad, more than whatever you would have me shipped off to become next** , _Bull told himself, keeping a blank expression his face.  “Yes, ma’am.”_

_“You will be sent back to Par Vollen for reassessment.  Asit tal-eb, Hissrad.”_

_“Panahedan, Viddasala.”_

_By the time the boat had docked in Qunandar the bandages were ready to be shed just as he would shed The Iron Bull.  Both of no more use to him as he moved forward with only one plan.  To avenge the man whose symbol he wore as a source of pride against his skin.  He would be patient as an asp, waiting until the time was right to kill the woman who called herself the Inquisitor._

 

As it was, it was a good thing that Bull was willing to be patient.  For while tales of the Inquisitor and her exploits continued to make their way through the taverns and back alleys of Thedas it would seem that the woman herself had been seen only a handful of times after daring to tell both Ferelden and Orlais that if they wished to see the Inquisition disbanded they could come to Skyhold and do it themselves.  To date, neither nation had tried, although it was said that if Arl Teagan sat on the throne instead of King Alistair the story might be different.

But the successes or failings of nations mattered little to Bull beyond flavoring the reports he sent back to Par Vollen.  Instead, he spent the better part of the next two years doing what he had always done best, building a small group of spies that were loyal to him and him alone.  And when he had them trained to the best of his abilities he sent them out across Thedas with only one directive.  Find the woman who might actually be able, and willing, to help him bring down Ellana Lavellan.

It had been almost six months since Bull had watched the last of his people leave on a pirate ship headed for Antiva when he returned to the small cottage he had claimed as his own after confiscating it from a particularly unsavory black marketer.

He had spent the evening in one of the taverns by the docks.  A couple of the local pirates had apparently decided that they didn’t care much for Bull’s strict ‘no slavery’ policy and were attempting to gather support to have him run out of town or buried beneath it, but from the conversations he’d heard tonight they weren’t having much luck.  Since Bull had been assigned to Llomerryn it was far safer for even the criminals to walk the streets without having to worry about ending up with a blade in their backs and for the most part, the slavers were willing to do their stocking up on their way back south from Tevinter, with empty holds to fill and no reason to steer underweight.

“Wouldn’t be having to worry about slavers at all if you were still here, Kadan,” Bull admitted to himself as he stepped through the door.  He’d paid a Rivaini seer a small fortune to ward his house against any form of recording enchantment the day after he’d moved in and it was perhaps a little disconcerting how often he found himself talking to his long dead lover within these four walls.  Closing the door behind him he continued, “I’m sure by now, you’d have outlawed slavery or bought and freed them all yourself.  Mae’s trying, but without your family name behind her it’s slow going.”

“One more thing t’ hate ya for…you know, ‘sides gettin’ him kilt.”

Bull didn’t flinch at the venom in the words whispered into his ear, nor at the dagger that appeared at his ribs.  He’d noticed the curtains weren’t entirely closed when he’d walked up the entry and he was never sloppy enough to give someone a view into his home.  “Long time Sera, hear you’ve been busy.”

“Heard you was dead,” Sera hissed in response, twisting the dagger against his bone without jabbing it in any further.  “Shoulda stayed that way.”

Raising his hand into the air Bull shrugged.  “Not gonna stop you if that’s what you need to do.  Fuck knows I deserve it.  But then, we both know there’s someone who deserves it even more than me.”

The rich, iron scent of blood hit his nose as Sera’s blade slipped, the archer leaping away as if she expected him to round on her with his axe at the ready.  “Shit, for a minute there…"

Bull walked the other way, crossing the room to light a fire in the fireplace, and damn, didn’t he miss Dorian at times like this.  Fucking mage would have had every candle in the house lit by now.  ‘Course at least these days he didn’t have to worry about the curtains.  Chuckling softly to himself Bull braced his hand on the mantle as he stood, memories flooding his mind as they tended to do when he thought of his lover.  Dorian’s copper skin and tiny smirk forever taunting Bull with what he’d thrown away.

“Oi…you alright?” Sera queried from across the room.

“Yeah, just remembering…”

“You know for all ‘is shitting gold and stuff, never had to steal ‘is pants.”

Bull smiled, wondering what it said about him that he didn’t even need Sera to explain herself.  “He was the best of us…”

“I left ‘im there…in that fucking pissy place with a dragon he woulda hated and you.”

_This isn’t about the dragon._  Dorian’s voice echoed in Bull’s head even before he’d realized he had stuck on the one word.  Shit, how had he not known…

_Amatus._  Shaking his head Bull frowned at Sera as the importance of her words set in.  “You mean she didn’t even go back and retrieve the body for his family?”

Sera’s laugh was shrill and bitter.  “Her highness?  Fucking lucky she didn’t leave me there too.  Said he and I was too much alike, can you believe that?”

“Actually yeah, I can.  Both of you cared too much…”

“You take that back,” Sera growled, springing over the back of his couch to point her dagger at him again.  “Wat da you know anyway?”

Bull’s expression softened as he waved her toward the seat she’d just cleared.  “I know he loved you.  That he counted you among his closest friends.”

“Oi, and he was fucking you and you fucked us all…stupid git,” Sera practically growled the last as she fell onto the couch.  “Don’t understand.  You picked your Qun and now you’re after her Highness.  That cause your Viddi-whatevers are telling you to?”

_Yes, how exactly do you justify that, Amatus?  Are you going to tell her about all the good loyal spies you’ve trained since your return or just about those you kept on the side to do your own work?_  Bull growled softly at Dorian’s voice in his mind, settling tensely onto the edge of the chair next to the fireplace.  “You can think whatever you want Sera, but I would never have hurt Dorian or you.”

“Fucking arsehole, you pulled an axe on us…”

“Technically I pulled an axe on the Boss.  I knew she wouldn’t hesitate to put me down and unfortunately the only choice was Dorian or me.”

“Fucking liar,” Sera spit out, half rising before settling again.  “You want me to believe you weren’t going to betray us?”

“Oh, I betrayed you,” Bull laughed darkly.  “Who do you think got those crates into the Winter Palace.  But there’s a difference between betraying ‘you’ as a people and ‘you’ as… _you_.”

Sera dropped her head against the back of the couch only to whip it back up as though afraid of what Bull would do once she wasn’t looking at him.  “Sounds like a load o’nug shit to me.”

Bull’s laugh this time was an honest one and he took a moment to enjoy it before continuing, “Think about it Sera, you really think I’d have gone down that easy if I had wanted to fight?  That I couldn’t have slit Dorian's throat if I’d wanted to?  You really think one arrow would have brought me down?  Cause you always did wear your quiver wrong, it left your left side open when you had to stretch for the next arrow.  My hand axe would have done the job.”

The room fell silent then and Bull glanced away from the blond guiltily.  It was one thing to know in his own mind how he would have taken out the people closest to him, but quite another to actually speak the words to them.  Watching the wood in the fireplace burn, the smaller pieces already turning a glowing red, he waited for Sera to relive that day in her mind, and didn’t that just make him feel even guiltier.  Because for all he knew she’d been able to put that day behind her, had built a stronger door than him with a stronger lock and shut it all away.  And here he was demanding she put a key in it and step on back through the threshold to the pain behind.

“Why’d you do it then?  Why not tell the Vidda-whoseit thanks but no thanks?”

“Habit,” Bull spit out almost instantly, Dorian’s laughter echoing in his mind so loudly he found his hands going to his ears as though the man were actually here to be mocking him.  And then Sera’s brittle laughter was joining with Dorian’s, and this time Bull found himself wondering just what had happened to the archer over the last five years that had taken away her lighthearted giggle and left her with its bitter cousin.  Wondered if that too was another failure to be laid at his own feet.  “If I had it to do again…”

“Oi, yeah, cause we all get the do-overs, don’t we?  ‘e’s fucking _dead_ , Bull, and there’s nothin’ you can do to fix that.  No spell to make it better.  No pretty words to speak.”

Bull fixed his gaze on Sera.  “I can kill her.”

“Who?  The queen in the castle?  That what this was about?  Sent your little rats scurrying ‘round til they found me and for what?  To tell me you’re gonna throw yourself against Skyhold?”

Settling back in his seat for the first time Bull sighed softly.  “I went looking for you because of anyone, you would be the one to know how to get in.  How to slip through the places no one bothers to look and cut the head off that snake once and for all.”

Sera pulled her feet up on the couch, wrapping her arms around them as she laid her chin down on her knees and just stared at him for the longest time.  He wasn’t quite certain what she was looking for, fuck, he couldn’t even be certain how much of the man she’d known she could still find anywhere that wasn’t buried beneath a ton of guilt and pain.

Eventually she sighed and slid her head to the side so she could rest her cheek against her knee as she looked into the fire.  “Look, I can pro’lly get ya in, only been there once since the Palace but some things don’t change  She’s got guards for her guards now Cullen’s left.  Not sure you gettin’ yourself kilt is what he’d want though.”

“Been dead since that day,” Bull chuffed, not bothering to hide the truth from the archer and knowing the moment she read it on his face from the way her eyes widened.  “Fucking Qun was just too stupid to know when to let go.  What about the rest of the circle?  Leliana?  Josie?”

Sera frowned, her words slow and uncertain when she finally spoke.  “Not sure I like this…Liliana’s still there but the two of them hiss at each other more than talk and Josie, well pretty sure she’s only still there to make sure her Highness doesn’t set her sights on Antiva next.”

“So there’s no one the Boss trusts?”

Sera snorted.  “Not sure she even trusts her own shadow by this point.”

“Good, it’ll make it easier.  She won’t want to call for her guards, won’t trust them to come anyway and it’ll be her and I…just like it should have been in the first place.”

“’e wouldn’t want you dying for ‘im.”

“Like he did for me you mean?”

“That’s not…” Sera broke off with a growl of frustration before launching herself at Bull and hugging him tightly.  “Not fair…just got ya back.”

Bull wasn’t certain he’d ever noticed just how slight she was, even less of an armful than his Kadan had been, and she was shivering as if they were standing knee-deep in snow.  Calling upon a part of himself he'd long thought dead, Bull ignored the tears that fell against his chest as he whispered to her soothingly, his hand tracing lazy trails up and down her back as he used to for his Kadan.

 

 

In the end, Sera insisted on coming with him and he had agreed, at least as far as Redcliffe.  She’d argued with him then, insisting that things changed over the years and that she was far less noticeable than he was, should things go south.  He had finally convinced her not to trail him all the way to Skyhold by telling her that Dorian would be pissed if Bull got her killed. She finally agreed, saying she’d hole up near Master Dennet’s old place until the first snow fell and if he hadn’t joined her by then, well she was going to Varric and she’d make certain his next novel contained a lop-eared nug-arsed Tal-Vashoth who didn’t know his own worth.

He’d hugged her then, surprised to find that there was some bit of his heart that still seemed to work and that it still ran warm for the outspoken archer.  Placing a kiss of farewell on her forehead he silently wished her long life before turning to go.  He was halfway across the meadow when he heard her call out, “Get yourself kilt an’ I’ll hate you forever.”

Raising a hand in acknowledgement he continued walking as he bellowed back, “I love you too, Sera.”

It was odd saying those words aloud, even odder actually meaning them.  And as he walked he found himself wanting to say them again,face tipped toward the sky.  “Love you, Kadan.  Always did and never stopped.  Wish I had said it more back then, maybe if I’d have let myself say it I could have believed it more when you said the words back.  The Qun…don’t roll yours eyes at me, Kadan.  The Qun says that there is no afterlife.  That what is here is here and when it’s gone, it’s gone.  But I hope The Qun is wrong, Kadan.  I hope that when my time comes I get to see you again and that you’ll listen when I tell you I’m sorry and that I love you….that I’ve always loved you.”

After that there were no more words.  Not as he left the highlands behind for the perpetually snowy mountains.  Not as he slipped into Skyhold through an entrance long forgotten that Sera had used to sneak Dagna out, after the Boss refused to let her leave.  Not even as he’d faced the stairs, so many stairs that his knee ached and his neck hurt from having to turn his head sideways to keep his horns from scraping on the walls.

There was noise when he finally reached the keep proper, the gurgling of a slit throat, the distinctive snap of a spine being severed and then, the sweetest noise of all, that of the Boss looking up from her paperwork to gasp in surprise at seeing a ghost.

“You…you can’t be here,” she stuttered even as she reached for the broadsword that lay tellingly across the top edge of her desk.  “I fucking killed you.”

Bull just shrugged, reaching for his axe as she sprang over the desk to meet him blade for blade.  Again they danced as they had years before, but this time there was no barrier to protect her, no arrows lodging in sensitive joints.  Instead the battle played out in nicks and slices, blood beginning to slick the stone floors and urging the combatants to retreat to the rugs which quickly stained crimson.

He would give the Boss this, the woman could fight.  And she fought dirty, not hesitating to throw a bottle of wine at him, nor a lit candle a moment later in the hope of engulfing him.  Bull retaliated with a lobbed candelabra and a chair kicked at just the right moment to send the Boss to her knees.  There was no long drawn out moment, no begging, no pleading, just his axe swinging hard and true that cleaved her head from her shoulders even as the point of her blade thrust into his groin.

Chest heaving, it took Bull a moment to realize it was done…and only a second after that to realize he was too.  Whatever she’d hit in his thigh was spurting blood in arcs too thick and heavy to be survivable.  Tugging back off the blade he slapped his hand over the wound and stumbled his way to the balcony, his only thought that he’d be damned if his final resting place was with _her_.

After all he’d been through, falling backward from the balcony was easy. The sense of weightlessness a relief after the guilt that had weighed him down for so long.  

“I love you Kadan,” he whispered into the rushing air.

_And I you, Amatus._

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Qunlat translations for those who are interested in that sort of thing:
> 
> “Shok ebasit hissra. Meraaad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Marass Shokra. Anaan esaam Qun.” (Struggle is an illusion. The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless. There is nothing to struggle against. Victory is in the Qun.)  
> “Ebadim astaar, Qunari itwa-toh. Asit tal-eb.” (They will rise, and the Qunari will cause them to fall. That is how it will be.)  
> “Bas maraas. (Useless nothing.)  
> Besrathari: recruiter and trainer for the Ben-Hassrath  
> “Nehraa Qun, Viddasala.” (For the Qunari, Viddasala.)  
> Taarabas: Clerk  
> “Ataas shokra, Besrathari.” (Glorious struggle, Besrathari.)  
> “Shanedan Rasaan.” (I’ll hear you Rasaan (Ariqun’s heir))  
> “Besrathari al Hissrad-iss ash Llomerryn. Rethost, Hissrad-iss. Ariqunkost ebra sala.” (Besrathari to veteran Hissrad, seek Llomerryn. You all protect, veteran Hissrad. The Ariqun will see to it.)  
> “Meravas Rasaan. Anaan esaam Qun!” (So shall it be Rasaan. Victory in the Qun!)  
> “Panahedan, Hissrad-iss.” (Goodbye veteran Hissrad.)  
> “Panahedan.” (Goodbye.)


End file.
